


Put Your Curse in Reverse

by GiveALittleRespect



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: AU, Army, Baby, Bipolar Disorder, Coming Out, Domestic Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich, Gallavich, Infidelity Related to Bipolar, M/M, Mental Illness, Mentioned Svetlana Milkovich, Mickey Is Not Good at Parenting At First, Monica Gallagher - Freeform, No Sammi, Offscreen character death, Terry is an asshole, domestic abuse mention, mandy is awesome, mentioned drug use, sex mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-01
Updated: 2020-08-05
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:47:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25652353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GiveALittleRespect/pseuds/GiveALittleRespect
Summary: If Svetlana had died in childbirth, how would that have changed the trajectory for Mickey, Ian and Yevgeny in Seasons 4 and 5? Title taken from Fallout Boy song "The Kids Aren't Alright."
Relationships: Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich, Mandy Gallagher/Kenyatta
Comments: 6
Kudos: 124





	1. Winter, Part 1

Mickey comes downstairs to find Ian in the kitchen talking to Mandy, who’s holding something bundled in a white blanket. She whirls on Mickey the second he comes into view.

“You fucking asshole, your wife just had your baby--”

His entire body tenses and he takes the rest of the stairs as fast as he can, turning his head away from her. 

It’s not mine, I don’t have to care, she can’t make me do anything about it, he keeps telling himself. 

“Where’s Svetlana?” Ian’s asking, and that sets Mandy off even more.

“She’s fucking dead!”

Mickey stops in his tracks. Ian’s mouth is agape, and Mickey keeps waiting for Mandy to say she’s just kidding, Svetlana’s back at home and this nightmare isn’t going to end that easily. 

But she doesn’t. She keeps looking at him like she’s waiting for a reaction.

“How…” is all he can think to ask, because he doesn’t understand how Svetlana could just be dead. Women don’t die from having babies anymore, right? Not in the twenty-first century.

“She started hemorrhaging right after he was out,” Mandy explains. “She lost too much blood.”

“Oh, my god,” Ian murmurs. He glances at the baby. “Poor little guy. Is he okay?”

“He’s fine,” Mandy looks pointedly at Mickey. “Seven pounds, six ounces, in case you care. And she wanted to call him Yevgeny, after her dad.”

Mickey lets out a hollow laugh. “That’s fucking terrible.”

Mandy walks toward him, holding the baby out, but Mickey backs right up into the fridge like she’s trying to hand him a bomb.

“Get that fucking thing away from me, Mandy!”

“You are such a dick!” she screams, and now there’s a crying baby in his face as well as his fuckwad sister. “He looks just like you, Mickey, and you’re not even upset that his mom is dead!”

“Hey, hey,” Ian intercedes, putting an arm between them both. “Mands, let me have the baby for a second. You’re scaring him.”

Mandy hands him over and Ian takes the baby into the living room. 

“Listen,” Mickey says, not sure where to begin. “You know she and I weren’t in love or anything.”

“Yeah, no shit you weren’t,” she snaps. “Did you guys even fuck after you got married?”

His jaw tightens. “Does that really matter now?”

Mandy shrugs. “Dad doesn’t know yet. Want me to tell him?”

Mickey’s stomach lurches. He can’t imagine Terry actually being upset that Lana’s dead, but what’s he going to do when he realizes that Mickey’s finally free?

Free. He can’t help it, the word just keeps circling around in his head. He’s free. He’s not married anymore, he doesn’t have to do anything Svetlana says because she can’t tell Terry that he’s back with Ian. He doesn’t have to wear the fucking ring anymore, either, and his hand automatically flexes, because all he wants to do is tear the piece of metal off and throw it as far as he can. 

He glances into the other room and sees Ian standing near the window, talking softly to the baby. He looks up at Mickey, and Mickey smiles. He knows he probably looks like an asshole right now, but he doesn’t care. He’s relieved. 

He can stay here with Ian. Mandy can take the baby and go back home and he and Ian can be together. No angry Russian hooker is going to ruin this for him ever again. He’s done.

“Mickey!” Mandy punches him hard in the shoulder, and he whips around. 

“Go home!” he yells. “Take the kid with you. Tell Dad whatever you want, I’m not coming back.”

Mandy shakes her head in disgust. “Wow. I knew you didn’t like her, but I had no idea you’d be this much of an asshole. Your kid just lost his mother, and now you’re gonna ignore him for the rest of his life?”

“He’s not mine. He could be anyone’s.”

“How do you know?” Mandy counters. “Did you get a paternity test?”

“She has a point,” Ian pipes up, walking up to them. “He’s got your eyes, Mickey.”

“Fuck off,” Mickey scoffs. Ian moves the blanket so Mickey can see the baby’s face clearly, but he only looks for a second before turning away. 

“It’s a fucking baby, they all look the same.”

“So why don’t we find out for sure?” Ian suggests. “The clinic can take a sample from both of you, and we’ll know by the end of the day.”

“Good idea,” Mandy says, glaring at Mickey. “Let’s go.”

“Seriously?” Mickey stares at both of them. “Right now?”

“The sooner we find out, the sooner you can decide if you want to take responsibility for him or not,” Mandy says sanctimoniously. “And hey, if you’re right, congratulations.”

“Hold on a second,” Ian says. “It’s freezing out and he’s only got his onesie. We still have Liam’s old stuff upstairs, let me find something warmer for him.”

Mandy smiles. “Thanks.” She glances at Mickey as Ian heads up the stairs.

“He’s already better with Yevgeny than you are.”

“I’d be a shit dad,” Mickey grunts, folding his arms. “I don’t know why you want me getting involved with that kid. The way we live, he’ll probably end up getting taken by social services in a week.”

“Maybe he should stay here with you,” Mandy persists. “Away from Dad and all the hookers. At least here, people know how to take care of babies.”

Mickey laughs. “Fiona already barely tolerates me. I don’t think she’d let Ian keep a screaming brat around.”

“So what do we do if he’s not yours, just give him away?”

Mickey doesn’t have an answer for that, and Ian’s back with the kid before he can think of one anyway.

***

Mickey stays inside the clinic long enough to let them swab his cheek, then he’s out in the cold smoking, hoping they can get this over with and the test will prove that Yev-whatever is officially not his. Hell, he could be Terry’s for all they know. No way is he getting stuck raising his little brother the way Fiona did with hers. 

“You coming back inside?”

Mickey gives Ian a smile and puts out his cigarette. “In a sec. C’mere.”

He doesn’t care why Ian’s out here, he just really wants to kiss him right now. He tugs Ian’s head down to his, and Ian responds, but pulls away after about a second.

“Mickey, your wife just died.”

Wow. Way to throw cold water all over the moment. Mickey wishes he hadn’t put out that cigarette so fast. 

“She didn’t love me,” he says. “And I didn’t love her. If that’s not what marriage is, we didn’t technically have one.”

“Nice deflect,” Ian snarks. “But you’re still her husband. Or widower now. You’re gonna have to deal with that even if Yevgeny isn’t yours.”

“What d’you want me to do, arrange a funeral for her? She’s got friends, they can do it.”

“And what about the kid? Mandy doesn’t want to raise him.”

“I didn’t ask her to,” Mickey says impatiently. “Look, we can put him up for adoption, right? Especially if he’s not mine. Not my problem.”

“Mickey--”

“Ian, Jesus Christ!” Mickey explodes. “It’s over. I’m not fucking married anymore! We can finally just be together without her or Terry or anyone else getting in the way. Why aren’t you happy about this?”

“I…” Ian pauses to find the words. “I’m not happy a woman is dead, or that her kid doesn’t get to know her. And I know you didn’t love her, but...I mean, was she really that terrible?”

Mickey rolls his eyes. “She was a giant pain in my ass, that’s what she was. Never shut up or stopped trash-talking me in Russian.” 

“Okay, but she didn’t deserve to die. And whoever’s kid that is, he doesn’t deserve to get thrown away like garbage.”

Mickey really doesn’t want to hear Ian’s bleeding-heart speech. 

“We’ll make sure he goes to some people who aren’t gonna fuck him up as much as my family would,” he says, mostly to placate Ian. “But then...then we can do whatever we want.”

“Really? So you’re gonna come out to your dad, he’ll be magically okay with it, and we run off into the sunset?”

“Why are you shittin’ on everything?” Mickey demands. “I just want to be glad that the past eight months are fucking over. You’re back, Svetlana’s gone, that kid’s probably not mine, and my dad...I mean, he never has to know. Everything could be okay for once.”

Ian’s looking at him like he expected so much more, for fuck knows what reason.

“Let’s go inside,” Ian says finally. “They should have the results by now.”

***

It’s his. 

Of-fucking-course it is. Because he can’t be happy for more than five fucking minutes before something in his life goes to shit. 

And the most fucked-up part is that anyone would think Ian was the kid’s dad, because he hasn’t been able to get enough of holding him and taking care of him since Mandy brought him to the house. It would almost be sweet if Mickey didn’t feel sick every time he laid eyes on the baby.

The hope that it was all a mistake--a lie, even--had kept him going for months. It was his light at the end of the tunnel, the possibility that not only would Ian come back, but that Svetlana’s kid would turn out to be some other guy’s problem. She’d have nothing to hold over him anymore, and he could tell her to pack her bags and leave. Hell, he’d wanted to file for divorce countless times, but Terry watched him like a hawk. Mickey never worked up enough nerve to do it behind his back.

Ultimately, the DNA test doesn’t change anything. He still doesn’t want the kid. He doesn’t like children and he doubts he ever will. If Ian wants to play daddy, let him, as long as Mickey doesn’t have to be directly involved.

Then Mandy texts him that Nika and the other whores want to pool their money and pay for Svetlana’s funeral. He wants to leave them to it--God knows he never even bothered to find out what her favorite color was--but Mandy thinks he should say a few words at the service.

“Great,” he says out loud, shoving his phone away. “I got some words-- “‘Fuck you, commie bitch.’” 

“You’re gonna have to do better than that," Ian comments.

“She was a knocked-up hooker who needed a green card,” Mickey shoots back. And she’s the reason everything was ruined and you left and I thought I’d never fucking see you again, he thinks. If it wasn’t for that fucking kid, everything would be almost perfect.

Well, except for his dad getting out of prison in time for the funeral. Mickey can just imagine the crocodile tears Terry must have shed at his parole hearing, talking about how much he wanted to meet his motherless new grandchild. The board probably ate that shit up.

On top of all that, Ian gets impatient with him about how they’re still hiding their relationship and how he has yet to hold Yevgeny even once. 

“He’s just a baby,” Ian says, holding him out to Mickey one morning when he’s getting dressed. “He’s not gonna bite, and I need to take a shower.”

Mickey rolls his eyes, but takes the kid while Ian ducks into the bathroom. He doesn’t know what to do now--the kid’s awake but not crying, at least not yet. He’s heavier than he looks, probably because of how much he eats. His face scrunches up and he starts whining.

“Don’t worry, Ian’s coming back in a minute,” Mickey says out loud.

Yevgeny doesn’t seem to like this, because he goes from just looking cranky to making sure everyone in the house can hear him. Mickey flinches, and kicks the bathroom door.

“Ian, he’s mad about something!”

Ian opens the door, toothbrush hanging out of his mouth, and sighs impatiently. 

“He’s hungry. There are bottles in the fridge.” He shuts the door, and Mickey would flip him off if his hands were free. 

“Alright, alright, calm down,” he gripes as he navigates the stairs with his arms full of wailing, squirmy infant. Christ, how does Ian do this so easily?

Then comes the task of opening the fridge door, which he manages with his chin and shoulder, and he shifts the baby to rest mostly on one arm as he grabs the nearest bottle. Managing that while not dropping the kid on the floor makes him feel oddly triumphant. 

“Okay, here ya go,” he says, nudging the baby’s mouth. Yevgeny takes it for a second, then turns his head away unhappily.

“What the hell? You eat this shit all the time.” Mickey tries to remember what Ian does when he makes a bottle, and remembers that he always uses the microwave. It probably has to be warm. 

Glancing at the stairs, Mickey takes the top off the bottle and sticks it in the microwave, warming it for about thirty seconds at a time until the bottle feels reasonably warm. He’s about to stick a finger in when Ian comes downstairs at last.

“Wait, don’t!” he yelps. “Test it on your wrist.”

Mickey gives him a skeptical look, but drips a little on his wrist. It’s warm, but not hot. He screws the top on again, nudges Yevgeny’s mouth with it, and this time the kid latches on like he’s starving.

“Now what?”

Ian smiles. “Just let him eat. He knows what to do.”

Mickey would be happy to hand him over, but Ian’s deliberately hanging back, so Mickey leans against the counter while the baby eats. Ian bustles around making eggs, and except for adjusting Mickey’s hold on the bottle, doesn’t intervene. 

Mickey just watches Yevgeny. There are a lot of things he’s never noticed about the kid, like how long his eyelashes are, how his eyes are lighter than they were when he was a newborn, and how much he looks like Mandy when he crinkles his nose. Mickey smiles at the thought. 

One of Yevgeny’s hands is pressed against the bottle, and Mickey’s index finger traces it absently. It’s incredible how soft the skin is. 

“Mick?”

Mickey jolts back to reality when Ian nods toward the kitchen table. “Breakfast. Want me to take him?”

“Yeah,” Mickey hands him over and sits down to eat his own, considerably more solid breakfast. 

***

The funeral isn’t quite as tacky as the wedding, but it’s enough to give Mickey flashbacks to the worst day of his entire life. 

The casket is pretty cheap and there’s a blown-up picture of Svetlana surrounded by flowers that look like they came from the last funeral in this place. Her friends take turns telling stories about her in broken English and Russian. Mickey doesn’t pay too much attention. Ian insisted on taking Yevgeny to this shitshow because it’s his mom, and he’s staying because he’s pissed off that Mickey told him not to come. 

At one point, Mickey decides he’s tired of the looks the guests are sending him. He stands up in front of the casket, looks out over the faces of women he only knows in a purely business sense, and focuses on Ian, who’s sitting at the back. 

He could tell them all the truth--that he and Svetlana “met” when his father forced her to fuck him in front of Ian. That their kid is the result of rape and he doesn’t love him. That he’s glad she’s gone because now it just can be him and Ian, the way it was supposed to be. 

Instead, he tries to focus on the few positive things he can say about her, and comes up with some stuff about how she was constantly busting his balls (that gets a lot of laughs from her friends) and how she never compromised on anything, how she taught Mandy to make some food besides eggs, how she was the only person he knew who wasn’t afraid of his dad, and that she really did want Yevgeny. If there’s one thing he’s sure of, it’s that she would’ve been the better parent out of the two of them. 

He feels a brief pang of pity for Yevgeny. He’s too young to understand that he’ll never be in the same room with his mom ever again. She’ll never hold him or sing to him or teach him to insult anyone in Russian. 

Baby will not be like you, she’d spat at him one time. Will not be piece of shit who doesn’t even look at wife!

As always, Mickey had ignored her anger, said something about how he didn’t give a fuck how the kid turned out. Looks like he’s paying for that now. 

Part of him thinks she was wrong--Yevgeny might end up being just like him without her around. 

***

The wake takes place at the Alibi, and Kev tries to make nice with Mickey like he’s some grieving husband. 

“I was thinking we could rename the rub-and-tug after her,” he says as he hands Mickey a plate. “Like...Svetlana’s Salon or something. What do you think?”

Mickey looks at him. “That’s the stupidest fuckin’ thing I ever heard. They’re not up there cutting hair.”

Kev shrugs. “Okay, well, I’ll work on it. How’re you holding up?”

“Fine,” Mickey says curtly. “Not exactly heartbroken.”

“Congrats on the kid, by the way,” Kev just does not know when to shut up. “Is Ian helping you out?”

Mickey ignores him and walks back to the table where he’s been sitting with Nika, who’s taken Yevgeny while Ian is in the bathroom.

“I can watch baby sometimes,” she says when he sits back down, glancing at the door. Terry’s going to be back any second. He doesn’t know why he bothered getting food because his stomach is so knotted that he couldn’t eat if he tried.

He nods distractedly at her. “Yeah, maybe. How much?”

“I charge ten an hour,” she says, rocking the baby. “But no sex.”

“No problem,” Mickey rejoins. 

“She had lawyer,” Nika goes on. “She was putting money aside for baby. Did you know this?”

No, he didn’t fucking know that. He stares at her. 

“A lawyer, like a divorce lawyer?”

She shrugs. “Maybe. But you have not heard from him yet, so maybe not.”

Talking to her is getting frustrating, so he digs into his food. 

“You got this lawyer’s number?”

“He will call you,” she says calmly. 

Great. Something to look forward to. 

***

Seeing Terry holding the baby and smiling, crowing about what a Milkovich he was, actually gives Mickey some relief after weeks of being terrified of seeing his dad again. He’s never seen this side of him before--genuinely proud and happy of something Mickey is responsible for.

Then, of course, Terry hands the baby back, starts drinking his weight in beer and regaling his asshole friends with prison stories. Not eager to hear more about stabbings or rape attempts, Mickey checks on Ian. He’s sitting at the bar, glaring at everyone in sight. 

Turns out, he’s still got a stick up his ass about being Mickey’s mistress (his word,) and he gives him a fucking ultimatum--come out or they’re through. 

It’s so easy for him, Mickey thinks bitterly. Ian’s family accepts him. He’s got people who’ll have his back no matter what. If Mickey did what Ian wanted right now, how many of these guys would bother pulling Terry off before he beat Mickey to death?

Two, maybe. Not like it would matter. 

He glances back at Terry, and his dad catches his eye.

“Don’t worry, Mickey,” he says loudly. “We’ll find you another girl. Can’t let my grandson grow up without a mom!”

No. 

He’s not serious. He can’t possibly think that he can pull that shit twice. 

Except he’s already done it once. Who’s to say that Mickey’s not going to walk into his house tomorrow to see another Russian hooker on the couch and Terry telling Mickey he’s found him a new wife?

He sees Ian heading for the door, and something inside him finally breaks. 

The next thing he knows, the words “I’m fucking gay!” are out of his mouth and echoing around the now-quiet room. Even Ian, who’s almost out the door, is slack-jawed. Mickey focuses on him, the only person he gives a shit about in this world, and utters what are probably going to be his last fucking words.

“You happy now?”

***  
They stagger back home with bruised ribs, broken teeth, blood congealing in their hair and on their faces. Ian can’t stop saying how proud he is of him, and Mickey’s alternating between feeling ecstatic that they’re finally free and crushed that after this, he and Terry are through and he doesn’t have a hope in hell of being accepted by him this side of the grave.

Mandy comes back after a while, with Yevgeny, and she stands in the doorway to the bathroom watching as they clean themselves up.

“You really came out in front of everyone?” she asks, and Mickey nods, dabbing alcohol on a cut on his cheek. 

“He was amazing,” Ian says, smiling and wincing from his split lip. 

“Is Dad still alive?”

“Back in the slammer,” Mickey says, wiping the last traces of blood from his face. “Maybe someone’ll shiv him to death in his sleep.”

Mandy grins at them. “So you’re finally out of the closet.”

“Not gonna buy a fuckin’ rainbow flag, but yeah,” Mickey quips. “You gonna put that kid to bed or not?”

Mandy shifts Yevy in her arms. “Say goodnight to your dads,” she sing-songs, and Ian laughs while Mickey flips her off. 

***

Two days later, Mickey still can’t believe he’s finally free. Nobody’s coming after him, Terry’s back in prison, and he and Ian have done nothing but domestic shit since that night. They clean up the house, take Yevy to his doctor’s appointment, and buy groceries all while smiling at each other in the stupidest way because this is all they ever wanted, minus the bullshit they had to go through to get here. 

Mickey wakes up on Wednesday and goes through his regular morning routine--shower, get dressed, scrounge up some kind of breakfast--and he notices two voicemails on his phone.

One is from Kev, telling him that he’s got Svetlana’s stuff at the bar waiting for him if he wants it. The other is from some guy named Morgan, addressing him as “Mr. Milkovich” and saying he’s “sorry for his loss” but wants to discuss the matter of “Mrs. Milkovich’s accounts” at some bank downtown. Whatever that’s about, it can wait. 

Right now, he just wants to check on Yevgeny, call Nika to come over and make herself useful, and drag Ian’s ass out of bed so they can do some kind of cheesy couple shit just because they can. 

He’s in such a good mood that he even changes Yev’s diaper himself and talks to him while he gives him his breakfast. 

“Uncle Ian’s gonna stay with us,” he tells the kid, who blinks up at him. “And mean old Gramps can’t do anything about it. We don’t need him, do we?”

Once Yev’s done with his meal, Mickey grabs a dish towel and tries to do what Ian does when he burps the kid. He might still be mostly hands-off when it comes to parenting, but he’s seen enough of Ian’s shirts get ruined by baby puke to remember this part.

Yevy burps like a pro and both the towel and Mickey’s shirt come away clean.

“Ay, good job!” Mickey cheers, shifting him to his chest. “You really are a Milkovich, aren’t ya?” 

The words catch up to him and he freezes, staring into Yevy’s innocent blue eyes. The baby gurgles and rests his head on Mickey’s chest. This is the longest he’s ever held the kid, the most time he’s ever spent with him one-on-one. 

He still doesn’t love him, but...he can do this much. And that’s more than he was able to do just a few weeks ago. 

“Okay, let’s go wake up Ian,” he murmurs. 

***

Mickey ends up taking Yevy with him to the bank, because Nika’s working that day and Ian’s...sick or tired or whatever. He probably just needs to sleep off the fight. He’ll be fine.

Having a tiny baby with him definitely makes a difference, because he gets a lot of sympathetic glances while he waits for this Morgan guy. He mostly ignores the looks, because Yevy’s only going to be cute for as long as he stays dry. 

Jeff Morgan’s not so bad, turns out, and he doesn’t mind Mickey bringing an infant with him.

“I have twins at home,” he says with a warm smile. “Just turned one.”

“Congrats,” Mickey says automatically. “He’s almost two months old.”

Morgan folds his hands over the top of his desk, back in business mode.

“Mr. Milkovich, did your wife tell you that she’d opened an account here for herself and your son?”

Mickey shrugs. “No. She never said anything about it.”

“Well, in the event of her death, all her assets legally go to you. Do you have an account at another bank?”

Mickey almost laughs. “Fuck no. My family doesn’t do banks.”

“I see. So you’d like it in cash, then?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“All right, I can get that taken care of before you leave. Then there’s the trust she set up for Yevgeny, but the funds won’t be available to him until he turns eighteen.”

Mickey blinks rapidly. “Wait, hold the fuck up--he’s got a trust fund?”

Morgan smiles at him. “Yes, the current amount is around three thousand, four hundred dollars. Mrs. Milkovich intended to keep contributing part of her income to the trust every year. Would you like to do the same?”

Mickey has to think about that. On one hand, he doesn’t exactly have a steady income. On the other hand, his kid could have the option of not growing up Southside trash like his entire family, and maybe even be able to leave this shithole when he’s old enough.

He looks at Yevy, who seems fascinated by the ceiling tiles right now. Mickey tries to imagine him all grown up and waving goodbye on a bus out of town, headed for fuck knows where, as long as it’s somewhere he can be happy. 

“Yeah, I wanna keep contributing,” Mickey says, turning back to Morgan. “How much do I need to put in?”

***  
After stopping by the Alibi for an unexpected show of support from all the drunk regulars (which was nice, he has to admit,) and a box of Svetlana’s stuff, Mickey heads home.

Ian’s not out of bed, and looks like he hasn’t moved. Mickey shakes his head and decides to focus on Yevy. He feeds him his lunch and puts him down for a nap, going through Svetlana’s stuff in the meantime.

Most of it is her clothes and jewelry, pretty cheap stuff that he can give to her friends. There’s also a few rolls of cash that Mickey immediately pockets. They still have bills to pay and baby shit to buy. Life goes on.

The quiet is broken when Kenyatta and Mandy come home screaming at each other, and Mickey nearly breaks a bottle over the asshole’s head when Kenyatta punches a hole in the wall right by Mandy’s. Before he can get the chance, the dick storms out again and Mandy starts cleaning up the mess. She’s never looked more like their mother than she does at that moment.

We can’t live here anymore, Mickey thinks. Yev’s crying--no fucking wonder, with all the bullshit going on right outside his room--and if all that didn’t wake Ian up, something’s got to be wrong with him. 

He goes to check on Ian, and if he’s up, ask him how he’d feel about finding their own place.

***

Ian doesn’t get out of bed for eight more days.

Fiona and Debbie come by with food to feed him and stay for a while after, talking to him. If he talks back or eats anything, Mickey doesn’t see. He’s the one who drags Ian’s ass out of bed every few hours so he can use the bathroom if he needs it, and runs a damp washcloth over him every night because otherwise he starts to smell. He even dresses Ian in clean boxers and a shirt every other day, because there is absolutely nothing sexy about him being naked when he’s like this.

It’s like having two kids all of a sudden, only one of them doesn’t have the excuse of being a baby anymore. Part of him wants to slap Ian out of this--and he comes pretty fucking close--but he stops himself every time. He could hit him and scream at him till he was hoarse, but according to the Gallaghers, that never works. 

He misses Ian's smart-ass remarks, his smile and dumb jokes, how he always finds a way to touch some part of Mickey even when there are other people around. He wants to kiss him and be kissed by him. He wants Ian to soothe Yev when he’s fussy and sing him to sleep. He just wants him back.

“C’mon, please,” Mickey begs one night, when Yev’s had diarrhea and Mandy’s trying to hide another bruise on her face and Kenyatta’s complaining that nobody cleans up around here (and Mickey telling him to “use his fucking hands for something besides hitting my sister” only made him tip over the kitchen table,) and maybe he could handle it all if he had Ian to help.

“Please get up, just for a little bit. I fucking miss you. Yev misses you.” He swipes at his face preemptively, because he can feel the tears starting. “Please, can you just try to get up?”

Ian’s eyes stay closed. He doesn’t say anything.


	2. Winter, Part 2

When Mickey checks on Yev the next morning, he immediately twigs that something’s wrong.

For one thing, Yev doesn’t want to eat. For another, he’s too warm. And he still has the runs, which can’t be good. 

Ian would know what to do, or at least tell Mickey to take Yevy to the clinic or maybe the ER. So Mickey bundles him up, hoping this is just some stupid bug, and takes the car that used to be Svetlana’s. 

Once they’re in the ER, Mickey almost regrets coming in because it’s noisy and crowded and he’s probably going to be waiting for hours. Oh, and he can’t fucking pay for whatever they’re going to do with Yev, but that’s nothing he didn’t already know. 

He checks in and as soon as he says he’s got a sick baby, suddenly there’s a nurse ushering him to a room like he’s just moved to the top of the list. Part of him knows that can’t be good, but at least he won’t be waiting forever.

“How long has he had diarrhea?” the nurse asks, taking off Yevy’s coat and onesie to prod at his chest and stomach. Yev doesn’t seem to like that, and starts crying.

“Since yesterday,” Mickey says. “He was fine up until then, eating and all that. He didn’t want to eat this morning and he’s got a fever now. What’s wrong with him?”

“For starters, he looks dehydrated,” the nurse reports. “Has your wife noticed anything unusual?”

“I’m not fucking married,” Mickey snaps. “I mean, my wife’s dead, and my...family’s been helping out. But he was okay up until yesterday.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” the nurse says in a softer voice. “I’ll get the doctor in to see you in a few minutes. You can pick him up if you want. He sounds like he could use a cuddle.”

Mickey glances at Yev, who’s still wailing on the exam table. He doesn’t really hold him except when he’s feeding or changing him, but the kid’s sick and probably cold. Ian would cuddle him without even being asked. 

Mickey scoops him up off the table and holds him against his chest, hoping he can keep him warm even if he can’t make him feel better. 

“It’s okay,” he murmurs when the nurse leaves. “They’ll fix you up, and we can go home and see Ian. He’s sick too, but I know he misses you.”

A sudden urge to sob almost chokes him, and he presses his cheek against Yev’s head to stop himself from crying. Shit, this is not the time to fall apart. He has to keep it together. 

Mickey’s walking around the room with him by the time the doctor shows up.

“Hi, Mickey, Yevgeny,” she says. “I’m Dr. Hinton, and it sounds like this little guy has a bug.”

“Yeah, he won’t eat and he’s had the runs,” Mickey reports, handing Yev over to her. “Is there anything you can do?”

“Wouldn’t be here if I didn’t think so,” she says with a smile. Then it’s all business while she takes Yevy’s temperature, checks his diaper, and removes the rest of his clothes.

“No rash, fever is under 100. That’s the good news.”

“Okay, so what’s the bad news?”

“If I had to guess, I’d say he’s fighting a virus. And because he’s so young and his immune system is still forming, I’ll have to keep him on an IV for the next eight to twelve hours.”

Mickey’s stomach lurches. “Wait, so he’s gotta stay here?”

“I’m afraid so.” She looks at him sympathetically. “You’re welcome to stay with him. He’ll feel much better once he’s got his fluid levels back where they should be, and we’ll run some blood tests to make sure this isn’t anything more serious than a twenty-four-hour tummy bug.”

She starts dressing Yev, who gurgles up at her. “He’s a cute little thing. You look like your daddy, Yevgeny!”

“It’s...it’s just Yev,” Mickey says. “We don’t use his full name.”

***  
Mickey isn’t sure if it’s a relief to be away from his shitty house and zombie boyfriend, because instead he’s in a hospital watching his kid sleep in a bassinet, an IV taped to his tiny arm. 

A month ago, he might have actually hoped that Yevgeny didn’t make it. He might have been relieved at the thought of not having Svetlana or her kid around. Clean break and all that.

Now, he can’t believe he ever wanted that. What the fuck was wrong with him? Yev’s just a baby. He got a raw deal right out of the gate with a dead mom, a shitty dad who didn’t want him, a babysitter-foster dad who might never get out of bed again, and Milkovich genes that pretty much doom him to a life of endless fuckery. 

The kid’s got enough odds stacked against him without a parent wanting him dead. 

That’s what Terry was to Mickey. Mickey didn’t want kids specifically because of how his dad treated him and everyone else in that house. His deepest, darkest fear is that he’ll be Terry one day. No kid deserves that. Especially not Yevy.

If Svetlana were here, she’d probably send Mickey home and insist on staying with the kid until he was better. If Ian were here, he’d tell Mickey to go get some lunch while he sat with Yevy. There’s no fucking justice in the world that neither of them can be here right now.

Yev fusses, and Mickey notices that one of his little socks has come off. His foot is probably cold. 

Mickey glances around before reaching into the bassinet, but nobody rushes over to tell him not to touch the baby. He holds Yev’s foot and tugs the sock back on. 

“There ya go,” he whispers. “I don’t like cold feet either.”

He sits with him for the rest of the day, only getting up to use the bathroom and grab some stuff out of the nearest vending machine (who puts fucking fruit in a vending machine, anyway?) He calls Fiona and asks her to check on Ian, and she has the decency to agree and tell him that she hopes Yevy gets better fast. 

With nothing else to do, he talks to his son. 

“I wish your mom was here,” he says at one point. “I mean, she wasn’t great to me, but she loved you. She was saving up money, buying clothes for you and shit. She’d even sing to you when you were keeping her up at night. She never complained.” 

That was something he’d found weird, Svetlana’s stoicism around being pregnant. He remembered his mom always being tired and cranky before Mandy was born. Svetlana, though, just poker-faced her way through pretty much everything. Mandy said she hadn’t even had drugs while she was in labor. 

“She was tough,” Mickey tells Yevy. He reaches into the bassinet and lets Yevy grip his finger. “You’re tough, too. She’d be proud of you.”

Yevy squeezes his finger and whimpers, and the sound makes Mickey’s chest ache. 

“Look, I’m sorry she’s not here,” he says, brushing his thumb over Yevy’s tiny fingers. “Or Ian. He’s as close to a mom as you’re gonna get.” He chuckles. “Then again, if Ian was a girl, you probably wouldn’t even exist cause I would not have been into him. I mean, I like redheads, but--” The thought of what kind of anatomy a female Ian would have makes his entire brain revolt. 

“Fuck that!” he says abruptly. “So you’re a kid with two dads. You’re not the first. And you could do a lot worse than Ian Gallagher. Least he’s nothing like his parents.”

***

It takes most of the day, but the tests turn up negative for anything serious, and Yevy’s temperature is down enough that Dr. Hinton says he’s good to go home.

Mickey breaks into a smile, leaning down to take Yev the second the IV is out of his arm.

“Way to go, little guy!” he says, holding the baby close. “You’re a tough little fucker, aren’t you?”

Dr. Hinton smiles at them. “He’s definitely a strong kid. Keep an eye on his bowel movements for the next few days and come right back if he gets feverish again.”

“Yeah, sure. Thanks.” Mickey almost never bothers to thank people--especially if they’re going to bill him later--but she helped save Yev’s life as far as he’s concerned. A thank-you is the least he can do.

Just as he’s strapping Yev into his car seat, his phone rings. He pulls it out and realizes he’s got three missed calls, one from Mandy and two from Ian.

Mickey almost drops the phone to answer it. “Hey, hi, Ian! You okay?”

“I’m fine.” Shit, he’s talking. And he sounds normal. “I’ve been up for hours. Where are you and Yevy?”

“We had to go to the hospital, Yev had a bug making him shit his brains out,” Mickey catches him up. “He’s okay now, though. We’re coming home.”

“Oh, thank god,” Ian sounds as relieved as Mickey feels. “I love you.”

It isn’t until Mickey hangs up that he realizes what Ian said, and that he didn’t say it back. 

Not yet, anyway.

***

Mickey practically knocks down the front door to get to Ian, who’s eating lunch in the kitchen. He jumps up and Mickey has to hastily put Yev’s carrier down before he’s hugging Ian, grabbing at him, checking him all over like he’s making sure he’s all in one piece. 

“What the fuck happened?” he says. “You finally take an upper or something?”

Ian laughs and kisses him, deep and sweet. “No, I’m just feeling better. I missed you.” He glances over Mickey’s shoulder. “How’s Yev?”

“He’s good,” Mickey says, reluctant to let go of Ian. “He’s a little badass.”

“Bet he is,” Ian grins, sliding out of Mickey’s grip to get Yevy into his arms. Seeing Ian rocking the kid and smiling at him makes Mickey feel ten times lighter.

He seems good. He seems like himself again. 

“Hey, Yevy,” Ian’s cooing. “Did Daddy take care of you while I was sick? He’s good at that, isn’t he?”

Mickey’s throat constricts, because he still has so many questions about what the entire fuck happened to turn Ian into a zombie for a week. Seeing him bounce back is great and all, but it doesn’t make anything easier to understand. 

“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asks. “Cause I was really worried.”

Ian looks at him. “I’m sure. I know I was a pain in the ass all week, and I remember Debs and Fiona coming over, and everything you did...I’m sorry, Mickey.”

Mickey blinks. “For what? You were sick. Wasn’t your fault.”

“I’m sorry I put you in danger,” Ian clarifies. “All that stuff I said about you being scared and a coward back at the Alibi, that wasn’t fair. Your dad could’ve killed you and I just let myself forget that. But the way you came out like that...that was incredible.”

Mickey looks away, embarrassed but admittedly pretty gratified to hear Ian finally fucking say that. 

“Well, thanks for helping me kick his ass,” he says, half-joking. “Couldn’t have done it without you.”

***

After Yev’s settled in his crib, Mickey tells Ian about Svetlana’s financial plans and the money he hasn’t spent yet, because he wants to use at least some of it to find a place for himself and Ian.

“Twenty thousand?” Ian says. “Wow. We could buy a condemned house with that much.”

Mickey laughs, leaning in to kiss him. They’ve been doing that a lot, kind of making up for lost time. 

“Or we could just find a sorta-shitty one bedroom,” he suggests. “Something with room for us and Yev that doesn’t have too many cockroaches. What do you think?”

“It’s doable,” Ian replies. “We could even invest the money and make more. Or you could get a job with a paycheck and open your own bank account, do it the normal way.”

“We’re not fucking around with the stock market,” Mickey says firmly. “That’s how my dad lost all his money when we were younger. And he always said the banks were controlled by--”

Ian kisses him again, probably to shut him up, but Mickey doesn’t care. 

“We can start looking for a place tomorrow,” Ian says eventually. “I can’t wait to get out of here.”

He glances toward Mandy’s bedroom door and his smile fades. “But first, I think we should do something to help your sister.”

Mickey sighs. “We’re gonna have to light the bed on fire with that asshole asleep in it, cause she’s not gonna just leave him.”

***  
Seemingly overnight, Kenyatta packs his shit and leaves without a word to anyone. Mandy’s smiling and joking with Ian over breakfast, and Mickey’ s just glad to have one less asshole around the place. 

“I got one of his knives and showed him all the ways I could make him bleed out if he stayed here one more night,” Ian says casually, like he goes around threatening to cut people every day. “ROTC’s good for something.”

Mickey laughs, even though that sounds kind of extreme for Ian. "Never seen that side of you before, Rambo."

“Yeah, well, your sister deserves to be happy with someone who doesn’t beat up on her.”

“Course she does,” Mickey replies, though he’s not sure Mandy’s next boyfriend is going to be much better than her ex. 

***

Apartment-hunting isn’t a huge success at first, but they have enough to budget for a place a little bit further out of their neighborhood--like, at least five miles out, which isn’t much but gives them more to look at. 

Ian loves any place with fresh paint and good light, and Mickey just wants to make sure the walls are thick (he is not about to deal with neighbors telling them to “keep it down”) and the place is clean enough for a kid. They find a nice two-bedroom for suspiciously cheap, which prompts Mickey to ask why, and the nervous realtor says it was the site of a double homicide.

Honestly, this information barely makes Mickey blink, and he doesn’t see why two dead bastards’ loss shouldn’t be their gain. It’s got working appliances, laundry in the basement, and heat is included in the rent, plus Yevy can have his own room instead of a crib in the hall or next to their bed. Mickey is finally warming to being a dad, but having a sleeping baby three feet away while he’s trying to bang his boyfriend is a definite mood-killer.

They hand over the cash, sign the lease, and the keys are in Mickey’s hand before they even realize what’s happening. Mickey can’t believe it--this place is theirs. No abusive dickbags punching holes in the walls, no sisters hiding in the bathroom from said dickbags, and no Russian hookers parading in and out. It’s quiet, clean, shiny...perfect.

It’s all theirs.


	3. Summer, Part 1

Mickey’s having a good summer.

For one thing, he decides that he’s done doing drug runs now that Terry’s locked up again. He talks to the cousins who don’t give a shit about his being gay (of which there are about three, but better than nothing) and they come up with a semi-respectable source of income by pretending to be a moving company. They’ve been doing pretty well for the past few months. Between that, the rub-and-tug, and the rest of Svetlana’s money, he and Ian can keep the lights on and the rent paid every month, with enough left over for anything Yevy needs.

Along with plenty of stuff he doesn’t, because Ian will take any excuse to buy the kid another toy or book that’s supposed to make him a genius. Mickey thinks he’s wasting his money, but Ian laughs and says he wants Yevy to be smart enough to get into Harvard one day.

“Fucking Boston?” Mickey scoffs. “No way. I’m not paying for that.” He ruffles the wispy blond hair that Yev is starting to sprout. “You’re goin’ to trade school, right, little guy? Learn to be a plumber or something that makes real money.” 

Yevy responds to this with a giggle and reaches out from Ian’s arms towards Mickey’s face. Mickey takes him from Ian and kisses his head. The kid’s growing fast, and looks more like Mickey every day.

“Love you,” he whispers in Yevy’s ear, still getting used to saying two words to his son that he has yet to say to Ian. Yevy doesn’t even know what they mean. Maybe that’s why Mickey’s trying them out on him first. 

“Gonna be home late,” Ian says. “I got a double shift at work, covering for one of the guys.”

Mickey grimaces like he always does when Ian mentions that glorified cathouse. “You’re staying off the coke, right? After what happened last time--”

“Yes, I’m off the coke,” Ian says with an eye roll. “Not gonna crash like that again, I swear. From now on, just fistfuls of oxy every few hours.”

Mickey knows he’s kidding, but he’s glad Ian’s taking better care of himself. He’s running every morning, taking vitamins, and even buying vegetables from some bougie farmer’s market every weekend because he wants them all to “eat healthier.”

It’s not all perfect, though. Lip and Fiona won’t stop calling and dropping by to see how Ian’s doing, especially now that he’s living more than a few blocks away. They still want him to get checked for bipolar, and Mickey doesn’t know what it’s going to take to convince them Ian’s good. He’s not hyper and bouncing off the walls like when he got back last winter, and he’s not practically comatose like he was just a few weeks after that. 

He’s got more energy, but who doesn’t this time of year? As far as sleeping goes, Mickey doesn’t blame him for not doing as much because it’s fucking hot out and he’s usually wired after work. And Mickey is definitely not complaining about all the sex they’ve been having, even if four times a day is a little much even for him. 

And okay, yes, there are times when having a conversation leads nowhere, cause Ian can jump from one topic to the next without even finishing a thought. And sometimes Mickey finds furniture moved around at random or one of Ian’s cleaning binges means his stuff gets tossed, but Ian justifies it as needing to keep bullets and pot cigarettes out of their kid’s mouth. There’s also the fact that Ian laughs at or ignores Mickey every time he suggests that maybe it wouldn’t hurt to see a doctor after how he was last winter, just to make sure it won’t happen again.

But Ian keeps insisting he’s fine, and he’s happy, and Mickey can’t help hoping that he’s right. 

***

Ian starts talking about adopting Yevy.

He wants to do it when he’s eighteen, so it’s legal, but Mickey tells him to slow down. 

“He’s not a pet, Ian,” he points out, wiping half of Yevy’s lunch off his face because the kid hasn’t gotten the hang of a spoon yet. “Once you sign the papers, you can’t just change your mind. Besides, don’t you wanna finish school first?”

Ian laughs like Mickey’s told a joke. “Fuck no, I don’t need a diploma to be a pilot.”

Mickey raises an eyebrow. “You’re gonna be a pilot now? Since when?” 

Ian bounces over with his laptop to show Mickey the browser tab he’s got open.

“See? I can get my license in less than a year, fly commercial or private planes, and make good money. I can support us. I can even take Yevy flying when he’s old enough!”

“You are not taking him up in a fucking plane!” Mickey objects. “Those things crash!”

Ian smirks at his tone. “You’ve never been on a plane, have you? Are you afraid of flying?” He grins at Yevy. “Aw, I think your dad’s scared of planes, Yev!”

“I’m not fucking scared--” Mickey breaks off with an indignant scoff. “You know what, fine, I’ll prove it to you. You get your license and I’ll sit right there in the….” He trails off. “What’s the front part of the plane called?” 

“The cockpit.”

Mickey snorts. “Right, the cockpit, and we can go up together and join the fucking Mile-High Club.”

“That wouldn’t work unless the plane had auto-pilot, but I like the idea.”

Mickey’s almost distracted at the image of Ian in a pilot’s uniform, but then he remembers how they got on the topic.

“Are you serious about Yevy? You really want to be a teenage dad?”

Ian sets his computer down on the table and reaches over to touch Yevy’s cheek. The baby smiles at him, and anyone would have to be blind to see how much Ian loves the kid. Easily enough to raise him like his own. 

“He’s already ours, right?” Ian says, smiling at Yevy.

***

It’s two in the morning when Mickey wakes up to find that Ian’s not next to him. He hears Yevy fussing, so he stumbles out of bed and into the kitchen to see Ian swaying in place, rocking the baby and humming. 

“Did we wake you?” Ian says when he sees Mickey. “We couldn’t sleep.”

Mickey shakes his head. “Then one of you needs to start drinking decaf. You just get home?”

“Nah, been back for about an hour. I was cleaning out the fridge when he started crying.”

Mickey glances at the floor, which is covered in bottles and containers. He closes the open fridge door and turns back to Ian.

“Put Yevy back in his crib. He’s fine.”

Ian grabs at his hand. “Dance with us.”

“I don’t dance.”

“C’mon, it helps him sleep.” 

Mickey’s too tired to resist, so he curls an arm around Ian’s waist and sort of sways with him, resting his head against Ian’s shoulder. Yevy sighs when Mickey runs a hand down his back.

“You can do it,” he murmurs. “Be his dad, when you’re old enough.”

Ian kisses the top of his head. “Really? You mean it?”

“Mm,” Mickey says, ready to fall back to sleep himself in a minute. “You got this.”

***

Two weeks later, things start to spiral out of control. 

For one, the rub-and-tug gets raided again. They even get Nika, who’s been able to avoid working when ICE shows up until now. So there’s that money gone, unless or until they can find more girls to work for them. 

Then Mickey beats up some asshole who thinks he can slap one of the girls around and short-change her (and him, by proxy) and he gets a bad artistic rendering of his own face on a flyer, like he’s a criminal or something. So now there’s too much attention on him to risk another moving-van run. Even less money coming in.

Just as he and Ian are trying to work out how much they have to make rent and pay for Yev’s new stroller, a suitcase gets delivered to their apartment by mistake, and Mickey claims it because why not, free shit. 

For some reason, Ian became obsessed with the idea of claiming a bunch of other lost luggage and Mickey comes home to find their tiny living room crammed with bags. It’s more than they’d ever need and most of the clothes aren’t even their sizes, but Ian’s hopped up like it’s Christmas and Mickey can’t convince him to give the shit back or at least throw it out before he gets caught. 

It culminates with Mandy coming over to take some stuff off their hands and dancing around in an evening gown and designer heels. Ian puts on a suit that’s too big for him and chases Mickey around with a two foot latex dildo, while Yevy laughs at them all from his high chair. 

It’s stupid and crazy and Mickey doesn’t understand what’s gotten into Ian, but...it’s fun. Nothing wrong with a little fun and free stuff. 

Then he comes home one night to find suitcases piled up in the hall outside their door, and even more luggage everywhere, stacked halfway up to the ceiling. Mandy’s standing in the kitchen feeding Yevy because the table and every counter is crowded with bags.

“What the fuck?” Mickey says, and she shrugs helplessly.

“I tried to get him to take everything back, but he won’t listen.”

As if on cue, Ian comes in from their bedroom talking about how he’s just organized all the footwear and how everything needs to be "organized," and he doesn’t even acknowledge Mickey. It’s like he’s completely in his own world. 

“Mick, he needs help,” Mandy says.

Mickey doesn’t want to say it out loud even to himself, but he knows Mandy’s right.

Ian’s still sick. 

***

Mandy sets up an account on eBay to sell most of the shit they stole, and says she’ll split the money with them fifty-fifty. Mickey doesn’t even care about the money, all he wants is to get Ian to look him in the eye for five seconds and explain what the fuck is going on in his head. 

But Ian is being really elusive, dodging questions in favor of kisses and blow jobs (and Mickey has yet to turn one of those down, regardless of what else is going on) and staying out later until Mickey’s been asleep for hours by the time Ian gets home. 

Finally one night, Mickey’s had enough and goes looking for him. He’s not at either one of those shitty clubs, and some flirty queer tells him Ian “left” with someone else like it’s nothing, like Mickey shouldn’t even be mad about it.

Oh, Mickey’s mad. And while kicking the crap out of the guy, he screams out his frustration at how Ian’s been doing whatever the fuck he wants, and now he's cheating on him, and after Mickey came the fuck out for him. It doesn’t make sense for him to be doing any of this, and Mickey's running out of ways to deal.

When Mickey gets home, he gets a call from Mandy. She doesn’t know where Ian is, but she does have some news.

“I’m moving to Indianapolis,” she says. “Couple of friends need a third roommate, and they say it’s a nice place. Besides, there’s nothing for me here.”

He wants to tell her to stay, but she’s right. Besides, it might be safer to leave the city and go somewhere her ex can’t find her.

“What’ll you do for money?” he has to ask, because he’ll give her some if she needs it. 

“Whatever I can. I just want to start over somewhere.”

***

Ian doesn’t get back until the next afternoon, and Mickey has fucking had it with him trying to avoid this. He doesn’t even seem to notice that most of the shit he stole is gone, and instead he tosses Mickey a wad of cash and grabs a bottle of water from the fridge like nothing’s happened.

“Where’d you get this?” Mickey asks. He knows the pervs at the club love sticking tens and twenties down those stupid gold shorts, but this is a lot more than he usually makes in one night. 

Ian says the word “porno” so casually that it almost doesn’t register. But when it does, Mickey’s entire world feels like it just exploded. 

Ian did a porno. Bareback. He just fucking went out and did a fucking porno with a guy he didn’t know who “said” he was clean, and he acts like it’s the most normal thing in the world. Mickey drops the money on the ground like it’s tainted (which it probably is) and gives it to Ian straight. 

“You’re sick. You need to go to a hospital.”

Ian laughs like he’s joking, but Mickey has never been more serious in his fucking life. Ian could die if he keeps doing shit like this, and he doesn’t even seem to care. 

He has to shove Ian against the wall to make him understand that he’s serious, and one way or another, he’s getting medical help, and for a second it seems like he got through to him. Ian gets quiet, asks to take a shower and grab some things, and Mickey lets him.

He goes into their bedroom and sits down on the bed, wishing he hadn’t quit smoking weeks ago because he could really use a cigarette right now. It isn’t until he hears a wail from Yev followed by the front door slamming that he realizes he shouldn’t have let Ian out of his sight.

He bolts after him, but all he sees is their car tearing away from the sidewalk. With Yev in the backseat.

Mickey doesn’t know what to do, and he can't believe how fucked things have become.

***

Mickey calls Ian’s phone every ten minutes, wanting to know where he’s going and when he’s bringing Yevy back. He finally cracks and chokes out “I love you,” feeling like a little bitch even as he says the words.

He means it, of course he does, but will it even register with Ian right now? What does he think will happen, Ian will hear that message and turn the car around?

He texts Lip, Fiona, Carl and Debbie and lets them know what’s happened. He stays up most of the night, waiting for Ian to walk back in and put Yevy to bed, then say he’s sorry and he really wants to get help. 

But that’s a fucking fantasy and Mickey knows it. 

By morning, Mickey can’t sit around doing nothing anymore. He stuffs some clothes into a backpack and takes the bus to the Gallagher house. It’s not going to be much better there, but it’s the first place Ian will go if he ever snaps out of this.

Turns out, the Gallaghers are all off looking for Ian. Nobody’s called the police, obviously, but no one seems optimistic that Ian’s just going to come right back. He could be anywhere, doing anything (or anyone, which makes Mickey want to be sick every time he thinks about it.) He could be hurt. Yevy must be hungry by now, and need changing, and they don’t keep baby food or diapers in the car.

Ian would never hurt Yev, but he might forget about him if he decides to--

Mickey doesn’t even let himself think of what Ian could be doing instead of taking care of their kid right now.

He sits on the porch, chain-smoking his way through Lip’s cigarettes (fuck it, Lip can bill him.) The one thought he keeps coming back to, besides “When the fuck is Ian coming back?” and “Is Yev okay?” is “How did I not know he was this sick?”

He doesn’t know shit about bipolar. Depression sounds like something everyone he knows already has, and he doesn’t even blame them. Everyone hates the Southside, even people who claim they love it. But what Ian had last winter, that was something else. He wasn’t him anymore. And then when he was better--so they thought--he went from acting mostly normal to being Extreme Ian, the guy with no “off” switch.

In the back of his mind, Mickey’s known something was wrong from the second he laid eyes on him shaking his underage ass at that club all those months ago. Ian Gallagher the ROTC student, the Army officer wannabe, the smart-mouthed kid who told him to “have some civic pride” when he stole from the Kash-n-Grab, would never have done anything like that.

So Mickey figured that Ian had decided to go on some teen rebel kick for once. Maybe he was tired of being the “good kid” in his family. Or maybe this was just one big “Fuck you” to Mickey. At least he wasn’t dead in a desert somewhere.

He scrolls through some websites about bipolar disorder in between calling Ian, whose phone is probably dead by now but fuck it, nothing else he can do. All the sites say that people with bipolar need to be on medication. It has to be taken every single day, dosages have to be adjusted, there are all kinds of nasty side effects, and missing even a few days’ worth can be dangerous. 

Nothing he reads can distract him from the all-important fact that he has no fucking idea where Ian or Yev is or what he’s getting himself into. And yeah, he’d rather have Ian back and on some fucking meds if it meant they kept him from pulling shit like this. He wants his son back safe and sound, and he wants Ian back to the way he was. Not bouncing off the walls, not living dead, just Ian. 

***

That night, Lip gets a call that Ian’s been arrested for soliciting a plainclothes police officer and is at the station waiting to be bailed out. From the sound of it, Ian completely flipped out and ran away from the cop before having a breakdown inside a convenience store. They had to sedate him, for Chrissake. 

Yev is okay, thank God. Mickey gets some odd looks from the officer who asks who he is “in relation” to Ian, and he blurts out the first three words that he always thinks whenever he thinks of Ian. 

“His partner...lover? Family?” 

When he finally sees Ian again, he forgets to be mad. He doesn’t want to hit him or scream at him or ask where the fuck he’s been, because he knows Ian wasn’t in his right mind. He wasn’t thinking clearly because he couldn’t. He’s fucking sick and that’s not his fault. 

And none of that matters because he’s okay. Even though he looks like absolute hell, Mickey sees recognition in his eyes and pulls him into his arms. 

He’s got Ian back, but he’s not...back. He’s not himself again, not yet. 

Lip and Debbie take Ian out to the car, and Mickey gets Yev back from the cops. The kid’s totally calm, acting like he’s just had a typical day out. Mickey cuddles him all the way to the car, so grateful that nothing happened to him.

Now comes the worst part, taking his boyfriend to the damn psych ward just like he didn’t want to do in the first place.


	4. Summer, Part 2

Mickey and Yev have a rough three days without Ian around. The kid misses him and cries more, and Mickey’s clearly not as soothing as Ian, because it takes longer to get him to settle down. They end up watching a lot of TV. It might turn Yev’s brain to mush, but at least they can both zone out for a while.

Mickey can’t bring himself to take Yev to that shitty place with people who had no concept of personal space or socially acceptable behavior, so he leaves him at Kev and Vee’s. Ian is still heavily medicated and he barely speaks to Mickey or Fiona, no matter how cheerful they try to seem around him. 

Mickey wants to punch through a wall every time they leave, because Ian’s still not Ian and he fucking wants him back. This was the place where things were supposed to get better for him--he’d get a diagnosis, get some meds, and get out of there. When do the meds start working? What can they do to help Ian act like himself again?

He just needs someone to tell him when he can expect to see Ian smile again. 

That’s all he wants, to see his fucking smile. 

***  
It isn’t until Carl tells him that Ian’s got his official diagnosis--Bipolar 1--that Mickey loses his nerve and can't bring himself to visit Ian when he's back home. 

He needs to process what this means, because there’s no denying it anymore. Ian’s bipolar, and he’ll be that way for the rest of his life. He’ll never be the way he was when they met, or during that summer Mickey got out of juvie, or even right before he left to enlist. Mickey knows it’s not his fault, that Ian’s brain is fucked up and that’s why he needs the meds, but he never imagined what it would actually mean for them. 

Everything he thought Ian Gallagher was incapable of only a year ago, he’s done. He dropped out of the Army. He cheated on Mickey. He whored himself out to strangers. He’s taken hard drugs and stolen from an airport and kidnapped Yevy. The kid’s probably never even going to remember it, but it haunts Mickey’s dreams. He dreams that Yevy is found dead in the back of the car, or Ian throws him off a bridge, laughing. When Mickey wakes up, he rushes to Yevy’s room to find him sleeping, oblivious to all the fuckery going on around him. 

And he still trusts Ian. That’s the really twisted part. He still loves him and wants to be with him. Because it’s not Ian’s fault that he’s sick. But sick or not, he did some truly fucked-up things and Mickey can’t just forget about them. If stories of Monica Gallagher are anything to go by, Ian could be going back and forth like this for years. Can Mickey really deal with all that, all the time? 

Maybe Ian’s not Monica, but Mickey’s not Frank. He wants Ian to be healthy and safe, and not put anyone else or himself in danger. He wants him as close to normal as he can get with this fucking disease. But Monica never took her meds, and Debbie texts him to come over because Ian’s flushed his pills almost as soon as they got home. Mickey throws his phone into a corner and holes up in his room, making sure to keep the baby monitor on so at least he can be sure Yev is okay.

Poor kid. He was just trying to give him a good life, a better one than he’d ever had. Now he’s not even sure if Ian can be around him anymore. What if, next time, he tries to take Yev sky-diving or some shit?

He wouldn’t. He’d never deliberately put their kid in harm’s way. But who fucking knows, right?

Mickey spends hours drinking, air-guitaring with his old guitar and headphones so he doesn’t wake the kid or upset the neighbors with his music. Neither is enough to completely drown out the voice in his head telling him to go to Ian, show him that he’s not alone and he’s still got Mickey. 

And what the fuck good would that do? Ian’s probably still sedated, wouldn’t even know if Mickey was there. He’s probably lying around like a vegetable in that house--

\--and that’s why Mickey really doesn’t want to see him. That’s not his Ian. That doped up, dead-eyed zombie version of him isn’t the guy he fell for anymore than the hyperactive, cheating version. Maybe the meds are to blame, but what chance does Ian have without them? 

When Mickey gets bored with the guitar and the music, he turns it off and retrieves his phone. There’s a text from Debbie, some shit about how he can’t “drink Ian away” like Frank used to do when Monica was around.

This fucking family. 

He’s actually grateful for the distraction Yev provides when he wakes up and needs changing. Mickey would rather deal with literal shit right now than Gallagher shit.

***

“Go talk to him, dipshit.”

Calling Mandy was a mistake, that much is obvious. But he has to talk to someone, and that means catching her up on the three-ring circus of fuckery that she’s missed out on since leaving town. 

“He’s sick,” she reiterates. “His whole family is probably treating him like their mom right now. Fiona’s trying to make him take pills that make him feel like shit and you’re hiding in your room like a pussy? I thought you were over that.”

“How’d you know about Fiona?” Mickey asks, ignoring the rest. 

“That’s just the kind of thing she’d do,” Mandy replies bitterly. “He used to talk about how his mom never took her meds and they’d try to sneak them into her food. Bet that’s gonna be her next move.”

Mickey covers his face with his free hand. 

“You said he was family,” Mandy pipes up after a minute. “Remember?”

“Yeah, that was before we knew what was really going on,” Mickey snaps. “He’s…Mandy, he took Yevy. He had a fucking breakdown. He did a porno and slept with who knows how many of those--”

“Because he’s sick!” Mandy cuts him off. “It doesn’t mean he doesn’t love you anymore. Can’t you just try and believe that, and be there for him?”

Mickey lets out a long, shaky breath and leans back against the wall, feeling like he’s aged ten years in the past week. 

“What if he doesn’t want me? What if he thinks I can’t handle it?”

“Then prove him wrong.”

***

By the time he’s packed his stuff, gotten Yev into his carrier and taken the late train to the Gallagher house, he knows what this all means.

He loves Ian. And Ian’s sick, and it’s going to take a long-ass time for him to start feeling better, but Mickey’s not going to leave him alone this time, no matter what. 

He stands outside the fence for a few minutes, just gathering his courage, and remembers his fucking wedding, of all things. The words the priest was saying as he tried to pretend this was all a joke, that it wasn’t real and it wasn’t actually happening and Ian wasn’t walking the fuck away from him.

Stuff about sickness and health, richer and poorer, words that meant nothing when he looked at Svetlana. Hell, she probably didn’t even speak enough English to understand them. 

But for some reason, that gives him the push he needs to stop dicking around and go in the house. Because that’s what he wants to do for Ian--be there for him through thick and thin, good times and bad. He gets all that shit now.

He rings the bell and Fiona answers, looking surprised that he showed up. He hands Yevy over to her before she can say anything, dumps his bag on the couch, and heads upstairs to see Ian. 

***

The next couple of weeks are pretty shitty.

Ian wants to stay with his family, which makes sense. They can keep a closer eye on him, spot when he’s in trouble. Mickey sublets the apartment and moves in right along with Ian, just until he’s ready to move out again.

The thing he immediately misses about their old place is the fucking privacy. If Carl’s not blasting music in his room, Debbie’s singing off-key to something on her iPod, and Liam, who hasn’t yet said a word in Mickey’s (or anyone’s, as far as he knows) presence, has no problem watching as Mickey tries to get Ian off first thing in the morning like they used to. Yeah, that’s not creepy at all. 

Ian hates how the meds make his dick limp and Mickey hates how they take the light out of his eyes, but they both have to adjust to the new normal. He’s got a new part-time job at the Alibi now that the rub-and-tug’s out of business, and Ian’s working as a dishwasher at Patsy’s with Fiona. Ian hates the gig, but Mickey appreciates how it means he can lay low from the MPs who are probably still after him. They won’t think to look for him in the back of a greasy-spoon anytime soon.

Yevy has his pick of babysitters, so Mickey doesn’t worry too much about him while he and Ian are at work. What he does worry about is how much Ian should be involved in taking care of him. A couple of weeks ago, he would never have given it a second thought, but…that was a couple weeks ago.

Now that Ian’s not manic and on the meds, he won’t take Yev again, Mickey knows that. But he can’t help feeling like he might. He hates how that new fear makes him hold Yevy tighter when Ian comes in the room, or dismiss his offers to care for the baby because Mickey wants to do it all himself. It’s like they’re the exact opposite of how they were when Yevy was first born.

He still trusts Ian, just...not around his son. Not yet.

***  
It finally comes to a boiling point one day when Ian grabs a six-pack and basically challenges Mickey to follow him to the dugout. 

Whatever. Mickey figures at least they’ll get some fresh air and be out of that house for a while. 

Ian’s trying to pretend like it’s the old days, doing his pull-ups with an injured hand and shotgunning a beer even though Mickey reminds him that it’s a bad idea on lithium--

\--and what does he get but a fucking fist in his face. He’s too busy spitting out blood to register half of Ian’s rant about not needing a nurse, and the next thing he knows, he’s landed his own punch to Ian’s jaw and they’re throwing down. 

And Jesus, does it feel like a release. Mickey finally lets himself express all the anger and confusion and betrayal that he still can’t articulate any other way than by whaling on Ian with his fists. At one point, they’re even choking each other. After about two seconds, though, Mickey gives up and lets Ian shove him off. 

He doesn’t really want to kill him,obviously. And if Ian really wanted him dead, he would be by now. They just had to get that shit out of their systems.

They get back up and shotgun beers in a silent truce. When Ian admits it was the first time he’d “felt anything” since starting the meds, Mickey chooses to take it as a compliment. 

When he kisses him, Ian’s finally responsive like he used to be. After a quick, fumbling fuck, Mickey’s relaxed enough to talk to him about all the shit they’ve been dealing with.

“I still want to help with Yev,” Ian says at one point. “I know why you won’t let me, and I get it, but I love him, Mick. I would never hurt him or try to take him away again.”

Mickey nods, grabbing Ian’s hand in his. “I know. We just gotta take it slow, okay? I can’t help it, I get fucking scared when I think about anything happening to him.”

Ian rests his head against Mickey’s shoulder. “That’s cause you’re a good dad.”

“So are you, shithead,” Mickey says affectionately. 

Ian goes silent for a minute. “I don’t want to be like Monica.”

“You’re fucking not,” Mickey replies, tucking his arm around him. “You got this.”

“That’s what Lip said.”

“Well, he’s not always wrong.”

“What if I am like her? What if I run out on you guys?”

“We’ll find you, numb-nuts.”

“I fucked other guys. I might do that again.”

“That’ll be kinda tough if I cut your dick off,” Mickey says casually. “Seriously, though, if you even think about fucking somebody else? Let me know first, so I can remind you why it’s a bad idea.”

“You sure you want to do this?” Ian lifts his head to look Mickey in the eye. “This isn’t going to go away, even with the meds. I’m going to have bipolar for the rest of my life, and it’s not gonna be pretty.”

“Neither are we,” Mickey jokes, even though he knows he probably shouldn’t. “We’re gonna be old and wrinkled as fuck one day, if we even live that long.”

“Seriously, Mick.”

“Seriously, Gallagher,” Mickey parrots. “I love you. I’m not going anywhere.”

Ian suddenly looks very surprised, and Mickey’s had a lot to drink, so he doesn’t immediately realize what he said. But Ian’s grinning at him like a fucking idiot, and--shit, this is embarrassing.

“You love me?”

“Didn’t say that.”

“Yes, you fucking did!” Ian laughs, tickling his sides. “You love me!” 

“Shut the fuck up!” Mickey tries to squirm away, but Ian’s laughing for the first time in weeks, and it’s such a great sound that Mickey starts laughing, too. 

They drink some more, laugh some more, and fuck until it gets too cold and they have to head home. 

They make an admittedly pretty drunken plan to go to Sizzler’s on their first official date, but they barely make it inside before Ian passes out on the couch, and Mickey tucks a quilt over him. 

“Night, dipshit,” he whispers, kissing his forehead. Ian mumbles something, and Mickey goes upstairs to say goodnight to Yevy. 

They’re gonna be okay. They’ll have their date one day, when Ian’s used to the meds and doesn’t need to get wasted to feel normal. It’s going to be okay.


	5. Fall

The MPs find Ian at work the next morning, and everything goes straight back down the crapper. Apparently some customer recognized Ian and ratted him out. Mickey’s going to find that guy and deal with him as soon as this shit settles down, he knows that much.

In short order, Ian gets court-martialed and kicked out of the Army because he’s sick. Mickey can barely look at him, he feels so bad. This was exactly what Ian was afraid of, and now he’s never going to be the Army hero he wanted to be for years. 

Mickey tries to get a second alone with him, to tell him that this doesn’t change anything, but Ian turns away and goes back to his cell without a word to any of them. 

They’ll have to let him out eventually, since he’s got the whole “temporary insanity” angle working for him, but for now Mickey has to figure out the next step. His lease expires soon, Yevy’s outgrowing his baby clothes, and Fiona’s been dropping a lot of hints about him finding a new place to live unless he can contribute more to the household. She’s worse than Mandy sometimes. 

He borrows the family laptop and apartment-hunts while he gives Yev his lunch. 

“Hey, look at this,” he comments out loud. “Studio, no parking space, no heat, no fucking utilities, and probably full of bedbugs all for six hundred a month. Sounds awesome. Or this one--hey, Yev, you wanna see a real crack house? Cause that’s where this place is!”

“Trying to find a new place?” Fiona says, coming downstairs with laundry. “Can’t you just go back to your old house, if it’s still standing?”

She has a point, but Mickey hates that house. Even after Ian’s cleaning sprees, it’s still too full of memories for him to ever want to live under that roof again. 

“Not a great place to raise a kid,” Mickey says, tousling Yev’s hair. “Rats, drugs, junkies, and that’s on a good day.” 

Fiona glances over her shoulder where she’s loading up the washer. “It was good enough for you.”

“Not for him,” Mickey says firmly. “We’re not going near that place again.”

She looks impressed. “Never thought I’d see you being a decent dad.”

He wants to flip her off, but she sounds just like Ian so he shrugs instead. 

***

Ian runs off with Monica and doesn’t answer his phone, no matter how many times Fiona, Lip, or Mickey call.

Mickey leaves Yevy with the Gallaghers (so much for being a good dad) and spends the next two days and nights back at his old place, fucking as many people as it takes to try and make himself not think about Ian. 

Like where he is, where he’s going, what the fuck Monica Gallagher’s getting him into, and when the fuck he’ll be back, if he ever comes back. He wants a life without meds and limp-dick and a family and boyfriend who love him? Well, he’s sure as fuck got one with Monica. Maybe now he’ll be happy. Maybe they’ll just tour the country doing their fucked-up bipolar act all over the place and the next time she blows back into town, he’ll be with her, as manic as the day he went AWOL.

And Mickey can...what, wait for him? Slam the door in his face when he comes crawling back, if he does? Tell Yev that the big redhead who almost adopted him isn’t going to be around anymore? What the fuck is he supposed to do?

Then he gets a call from Ian, runs the entire way to his house like a bitch, and finds his boyfriend looking like total hell (but in one piece and definitely not manic) on the front steps.

And instead of apologizing, or even explaining why the fuck he ran off, Ian starts talking about how Mickey doesn’t “owe him” anything and he doesn’t want him worrying about the next crazy shit he might do. 

Mickey should lay into him about the shit he’s pulled just when they were starting to be okay again. He should make him feel guilty about leaving Yev. But he doesn’t really want to do any of that. If it’s truth time, all he wants to say is what he’s been thinking since the night he came to see him after the psych ward.

“I love you. It means we take care of each other. Good times and bad, sickness and health, all that crap.”

Ian actually makes fun of him for that, and this time Mickey does let a “Fuck you” slip, but there’s not much heat behind it. Ian looks so goddamn tired that Mickey just wants to take him inside and put him to bed and give him his meds, because he needs them.

It isn’t until Ian insists that he’s not broken and doesn’t need fixing that it sinks in--Ian’s telling him to leave. To stop taking care of him. He doesn’t want a caretaker for a boyfriend, and he doesn’t want Mickey in either role. 

So that’s it. Ian’s really doing this, after all this time and all they’ve been through. Mickey’s getting dumped.

They just look at each other for a long, painful moment, and Mickey kind of wants to salvage what pride he has left and cuss Ian out, make it look like he’s the one breaking up with him--

\--but instead he says, “You know why I married her?”

“Who, Svetlana?”

“No, Britney Spears. Yeah, Svetlana!” Mickey snarks angrily. “It wasn’t because of the baby. It wasn’t even because of what my dad made her do.”

Ian shrugs weakly. “So why, Mick?”

“It was because of you,” Mickey’s voice shakes, because he never wanted to tell Ian this. “My dad swore if I didn’t fucking marry her, if there wasn’t an actual wedding for everyone to see, he’d kill you the next time he saw you.”

He has to look away and run a hand over his mouth, but he keeps going.

“That day when you were trying to make me say I loved you? That's why I beat the crap out of you. I wanted you to fucking stop, or put it together that I was trying to protect you and that’s why I was staying away.”

Ian stares at him. “You knocked out my tooth.”

“Cause you wouldn’t shut up,” Mickey retorts, almost wanting to laugh. “Jesus, Ian, I didn’t wanna do it, but I--” He pulls a hand through his hair. “I knew you meant it. I knew you loved me.”

He isn’t sure what he wants Ian’s reaction to be, but he just keeps looking at Mickey like he doesn’t understand what he’s saying. 

“Is that why you didn’t tell me not to go after the wedding?” he says finally. “Were you still trying to protect me?”

Mickey nods, and laughs bleakly. “Yeah, and you were tryin’ to get your ass blown up by terrorists. How fucked up is that?”

Ian smiles, but it disappears as quickly as it came.

“Doesn’t change anything,” he says, turning back to the house. “Go home, Mickey.”

Yeah, okay, he’ll go home. Right the fuck now.

He walks through the gate, puts a hand on Ian’s back, and when Ian turns to look at him in confusion, he just smiles at him.

“Fuck you, Gallagher. Let’s go inside.”

The End

**Author's Note:**

> I've been writing this monstrosity of a fic for four months and have literally just finished it TODAY. And it's a non-Mpreg, which is a bit off-brand for me! 
> 
> Please comment, leave kudos, and keep reading!


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